king wants us to solve the riddle."
The ribs seemed bruised only.
"But now there's the other riddle," Innes continued. "The king must know that Lord Beryn wants us to fail, or he wouldn't have sent the Grip to guard us. So why should Lord Beryn oppose the king?"
My head was starting to throb, and when I rubbed the back of it, I was hardly surprised to find the bump, could almost feel it swelling under my fingers. "Innes, we'll answer the king's riddle first. The Grip must have left his horse outside."
Innes paused a long moment. "And if he has?"
"Then we'll ride it to Saint Eynsham Abbey, Innes." I sighed.
"Are you remembering that horses are afraid of me?"
"Yes, terrified."
We clambered down the ladder and stepped over the Grip. Still no movement from him. I peered outside the mill: The Grip's black horse waited, tied to a post. As soon as he saw me, he began pawing at the ground.
"I'll stay quiet," said Innes.
I held my palms out and, one slow step at a time, moved toward the horse, clucking my tongue.
"Horse," I whispered, "you may be our way to Saint Eynsham Abbey. You'll save our feet. And who knows how many you'll save in Wolverham."
The horse looked up again. He seemed to understand.
"If you get us there, we'll sing about you in songs, call our best colts by your name, and tell your story on a cold winter's night."
Slowly, slowly I unwound his reins from about the post.
"The Glory of the Black Steed,' we'll call it. It will be a story told for a hundred generations."
Half cooing, half whistling to the horse, slowly, slowly I started to gather the reins in one hand.
And slowly, slowly the horse rolled his head, pulled the reins from my hands, and ambled away.
I broke into a run. He broke into a slow canter. I went into a full sprint, and he went into a light, prancing gallop and waggled his fat hind end just as he disappeared into the woods. I flung a rock, but it missed his last waggle.
Innes was waiting patiently when I came back, winded. "I don't think he likes that noise you make with your tongue," he said.
"We need to cross the village and find the road on the far side. I can see it easily enough from here. It borders five, six, seven fields and then finds the woods."
"Is there anyone at work in the fields?"
"No one."
"And between us and the fields?"
"I see a long barn, the church, another barn beside a round barn, the manor house, the commons, then a row of houses, maybe ten or twelve."
"Perhaps if we waited till dark."
"And I see Lord Beryn's Guard just coming out of the woods."
"Anything else?"
"Nothing but the miller, who is hurrying off to meet them."
"Perhaps he is off to sell them some bread."
"Not bread," I said. "You know, Innes, I've spent whole days in my life when nothing ever happened to me."
"See what you've missed by not being blind. Maybe we should try to hide in the church."
Crouching, we ran toward the village. I was surprised at how suddenly the day seemed very, very bright, and how the light sharpened everything. Every branch was glinting with last night's hard frost. The stubble that stood in the fields stuck brusquely up and caught the light full. The air was perfectly blue, so blue that it startled the black trees to attention.
And even as my breath came shorter and shorter, I realized that deep inside, in a place touched only rarely, I was gladdened by the world, and gladdened by Innes. Even with Lord Beryn's Guard coming into the village behind us.
We crossed to the barn and creaked the door open. Rows of cows raised their heavy heads to us, then returned to their slow chewing. Fresh hay lay on the flooring, and a pitchfork was propped against one stall.
"Someone will be coming back soon, so let's be quick. Don't step there, Innes."
Through another door at the far end of the barn, then across to the church, a pause under the stone archway, then a push through the door, and we were in. The heavily spiced darkness of the place came around us. It might as
The ribs seemed bruised only.
"But now there's the other riddle," Innes continued. "The king must know that Lord Beryn wants us to fail, or he wouldn't have sent the Grip to guard us. So why should Lord Beryn oppose the king?"
My head was starting to throb, and when I rubbed the back of it, I was hardly surprised to find the bump, could almost feel it swelling under my fingers. "Innes, we'll answer the king's riddle first. The Grip must have left his horse outside."
Innes paused a long moment. "And if he has?"
"Then we'll ride it to Saint Eynsham Abbey, Innes." I sighed.
"Are you remembering that horses are afraid of me?"
"Yes, terrified."
We clambered down the ladder and stepped over the Grip. Still no movement from him. I peered outside the mill: The Grip's black horse waited, tied to a post. As soon as he saw me, he began pawing at the ground.
"I'll stay quiet," said Innes.
I held my palms out and, one slow step at a time, moved toward the horse, clucking my tongue.
"Horse," I whispered, "you may be our way to Saint Eynsham Abbey. You'll save our feet. And who knows how many you'll save in Wolverham."
The horse looked up again. He seemed to understand.
"If you get us there, we'll sing about you in songs, call our best colts by your name, and tell your story on a cold winter's night."
Slowly, slowly I unwound his reins from about the post.
"The Glory of the Black Steed,' we'll call it. It will be a story told for a hundred generations."
Half cooing, half whistling to the horse, slowly, slowly I started to gather the reins in one hand.
And slowly, slowly the horse rolled his head, pulled the reins from my hands, and ambled away.
I broke into a run. He broke into a slow canter. I went into a full sprint, and he went into a light, prancing gallop and waggled his fat hind end just as he disappeared into the woods. I flung a rock, but it missed his last waggle.
Innes was waiting patiently when I came back, winded. "I don't think he likes that noise you make with your tongue," he said.
"We need to cross the village and find the road on the far side. I can see it easily enough from here. It borders five, six, seven fields and then finds the woods."
"Is there anyone at work in the fields?"
"No one."
"And between us and the fields?"
"I see a long barn, the church, another barn beside a round barn, the manor house, the commons, then a row of houses, maybe ten or twelve."
"Perhaps if we waited till dark."
"And I see Lord Beryn's Guard just coming out of the woods."
"Anything else?"
"Nothing but the miller, who is hurrying off to meet them."
"Perhaps he is off to sell them some bread."
"Not bread," I said. "You know, Innes, I've spent whole days in my life when nothing ever happened to me."
"See what you've missed by not being blind. Maybe we should try to hide in the church."
Crouching, we ran toward the village. I was surprised at how suddenly the day seemed very, very bright, and how the light sharpened everything. Every branch was glinting with last night's hard frost. The stubble that stood in the fields stuck brusquely up and caught the light full. The air was perfectly blue, so blue that it startled the black trees to attention.
And even as my breath came shorter and shorter, I realized that deep inside, in a place touched only rarely, I was gladdened by the world, and gladdened by Innes. Even with Lord Beryn's Guard coming into the village behind us.
We crossed to the barn and creaked the door open. Rows of cows raised their heavy heads to us, then returned to their slow chewing. Fresh hay lay on the flooring, and a pitchfork was propped against one stall.
"Someone will be coming back soon, so let's be quick. Don't step there, Innes."
Through another door at the far end of the barn, then across to the church, a pause under the stone archway, then a push through the door, and we were in. The heavily spiced darkness of the place came around us. It might as
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